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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933391">to establish ties</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucasfletcher/pseuds/kitafox'>kitafox (lucasfletcher)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Kinda, M/M, Magical Realism, THE LITTLE PRINCE AU, kita as The Fox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:41:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucasfletcher/pseuds/kitafox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinsuke says to him: “Your hair reminds me of autumn rice paddies. When the ears hang heavy under the weight of the rice in the husk and, golden, they bend over in the breeze. That’s when you know they are ready to be harvested. That’s how I shall know you.” </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>to establish ties</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this morning i tweeted about atskt as the little prince, then got possessed and wrote this out,,<br/>probably wouldn't be here without the help of my biggest enabler <a href="https://twitter.com/kodzuuu">goob</a> THANK U SM,, she also made the loveliest art check it <a href="https://twitter.com/smexysamu/status/1276624012580397061">out</a>!!!</p><p>also this is an au, so,, not super similar to the original, i borrowed a few themes, but because i didn't just want to copy and slap atskt on it i made it my own<br/>enjoy!</p><p>title is, of course, from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Atsumu's grandfather taught him this: to be content means knowing what needs to be done, when exactly and which tools you use to do it. Dig the garden soil after it rains, smoke the meat with dry hardwood. Do not start something you can’t finish, do not expect anything from anyone and leave the rice deities alone, unless they come to you. </p><p> </p><p>A car rushes down the street. Too quick, something unusual. Atsumu watching from behind the glass, between the bamboo scaffolding and colourful levitating stalls, slow elders with even slower canes, pink blossoms being rolled by the wind all over the sidewalk. </p><p> </p><p>“It is good to protect yerself from the wild things, young man.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu startles from where he’s perusing the metal wires. “Huh? Oh, I’m not afraid of animals. The fence in my backyard just broke and my grandf-“ Atsumu cuts himself off. </p><p> </p><p>“I can tell ya are not from around here. Ya know,” the old woman leans closer to him and lowers her voice, “they say some foxes are born as men. Here, in the village.” </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu scoffs. “In that case, I doubt a metal fence would be able to stop them from coming.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Beware of those who are always watching. Those who have yet to be tamed.”</p><p> </p><p>He grabs for the roll of chain link fabric and when he opens his mouth to reply, the woman already has her back turned and is shuffling to the end of the aisle. Whatever. That is the way of the village, twisting and weaving the stories like willow branches into a basket, so they have something to talk about.</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t until he’s cutting up the rusty wires standing knee-deep in the overgrown grass that he remembers. He used to have this dream every other night when he was younger. His grandfather sleeping in a garden chair, a rifle to his chest. He and Osamu were running around him in circles. Then, the foxes, running with them. Someone put their hands on Atsumu’s temples and he woke up. He didn’t know what it meant back then. He doesn’t know now, but still he remembers. </p><p> </p><p>If his grandfather were here, he would’ve scolded him for the sloppy way he’s looping the ends of the wires over each other. If Osamu were here, he would be sitting down, doing absolutely nothing to help except run his big mouth. Atsumu is suddenly so tired. He knows that every departure nurses a double in itself — a new encounter, a different eternity. People in their essence are basically conceived the same way. Polished within by the departures and encounters like mirrors in which the eternity is reflected. That is their purpose. The fact that we are able to cry is the proof of that. Because in every tear there is the attempt to persevere, but at the same time to encounter a new eye…</p><p> </p><p>°</p><p> </p><p>There is a rice field close to the house. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu is yet to see anyone tending to the abandoned stalks swaying in the wind. As he’s walking into the garden shed in the morning, he spies another hole in the fence he overlooked yesterday. He abandons the scythe for pliers; <em> do not start something you cannot finish. </em> But then, a small movement. There, at the edge of the rice field, coming closer to where he is crouching down by the fence. </p><p> </p><p>A fox. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Do not expect anything from anyone.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>It is looking at him. Its fur not red, a strange shade of grey shimmering against the green of the rice field. Atsumu stares at it back. Unmoving. <em> Unless they come to you. </em>Then, it turns away. Atsumu finishes with the fence, then tries to cut the grass, but the scythe is too blunt to slice through properly and he doesn’t know how to sharpen it. By late afternoon, one of the callouses has split the skin of his palm open. He would never have been so careless before. When he sits on the back porch with barley tea, staring at the texts from Osamu, he wonders why he hasn’t turned off his phone yet. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>the evil twin </b>
</p><p>let me know if you need me to come get you</p><p>
  <em> read 09:34am </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu lights the oil lamps just as he did every night since he came here a week ago. He, too, is a mirror of eternity. When he looks out into the garden, the fox is back, nosing around the fence. </p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” he calls out to it, because apparently that is just a thing he does now, “did I patch up your entrance? My grandfather is not here anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>He walks closer, slowly and cautiously through the unfinished overgrown weed. He never listened to his grandfather anyway. The fox is still there, looking up at him. “Did he use to feed you? I don’t think I have anything suitable for foxes in here.” </p><p> </p><p>But the fox just turns to walk away, looking back over its shoulder once. Whatever, it wasn’t like Atsumu was expecting for it to talk back. That night, he dreams. He is running in circles around an empty garden chair. Someone puts their hands on Atsumu’s temples. Open your eyes, Atsumu. Wake up, Atsumu. </p><p> </p><p>°</p><p> </p><p>There is a man weeding the rice field. He raises a hand in greeting when Atsumu runs by in the morning, just like a by the way — slightly and inconspicuously as if he were just brushing an eyelash from his cheek. </p><p> </p><p>°</p><p> </p><p>He is there the next morning. And the next. And the fox, every night behind the garden fence and in Atsumu’s dreams.</p><p> </p><p>°</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu wakes with something weighing down on his bones and gets dressed into his running clothes slowly. Then, a figure in the rice paddy, stark against the brightness of the morning air.</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” he says to Atsumu when he comes to stand as close to the field as possible without getting his sneakers wet. The man looks young, with wild eyes peeking out from beneath the brim of his hat and sweat glistening on the jut of his jaw. Only his tanned forearms are corded with muscles that speak of the way he must be spending his days. Here in the village. Atsumu feels like vibrating out of his skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning.” </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know anyone was moving into that house.” He says it like a fact, like he didn’t know but at the same time did. Knows. That Atsumu is—</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not—“ Atsumu tries again, “I’m not here for long.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright.”</p><p> </p><p>“I just mean…” The man hums to show that he’s listening, bending down to pluck another weed from the mud. “Look, do you perhaps know how to sharpen a scythe?” </p><p> </p><p>°</p><p> </p><p>His name is Shinsuke. </p><p> </p><p>He has been living here his whole life and knows, in fact, how to sharpen a scythe. He also knows the best way to hold it and angle it down, so the grass falls smoothly, a quiet whisper to the ground. Shinsuke is also quiet. He came over after he finished his work on the rice field, in the early evening when Atsumu was more than ready to jump out of his skin. He already tidied the garden shed, cooked, ate and did the dishes diligently, even if back home he would just dump them into the sink. He was thinking about opening the one door in the house he hasn’t had the courage to yet, but then there was a knock on the door. And then there were two. Atsumu has to hold his tongue more often than not, as he watches Shinsuke work, firstly dragging the sharpening stone across the blade, then handing it to Atsumu. </p><p> </p><p>Only after Atsumu grips the handle of the scythe too tight, he remembers the state of his palms and he curses, drops it to the ground. “Ouch. I don’t think I can work on this today.” He shows his hands to Shinsuke. The callous has reopened again and blood is welling up in the cradle of his palm. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you for showing me, though. I will try to finish it as soon as this heals a little.”</p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke looks like someone who doesn’t start things he knows he can’t finish. He looks like someone his grandfather would’ve liked. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright, Atsumu.” His words are also soft and Atsumu has never heard his name sound quite so gentle. He didn’t know it was possible. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you want to stay for some tea?” </p><p> </p><p>They sit on the porch steps and Atsumu lights the lamps and they stare out into the sloppily cut garden. The evening is not cold but not yet balmy the way a summer night would feel. The crickets are so loud in the countryside, echoing around them and only sometimes intercepted by a frog croaking to attention. Shinsuke’s shoulders are so slight, Atsumu notices and then tries not to notice. He remembers, suddenly. </p><p> </p><p>“I saw a fox here yesterday. It was silver, though, and looked like it's been waiting around for something. I’ve fixed all the holes in the fence, so it probably can’t come in anymore.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm? Perhaps it was just a bit lonely.” Shinsuke’s smile is wistful as he stares out into the darkness. A clack, as he puts his cup down onto the wooden stairs and folds his hands in his lap. Though they are roughened up from his work, they are also slight. Something about his presence just takes from these facts and if Atsumu weren’t paying close attention, he wouldn’t have noticed. He is though. Wishes he weren't.</p><p> </p><p>“A woman… an old woman in the store told me something about how foxes are born as men here and to protect myself from the untamed or whatever,” he tries to sound nonchalant, as if the didn’t care when he, in fact, cares and the words have been causing his dreams to regress fifteen years to the past back to when he used to spend his entire summers here, knowing what needs to be done, when exactly and which tools to use to do it. When his grandfather was there to remind him. </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke turns to look at him. Just looks, quietly. Then he smiles, his first real smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Well then, Atsumu, why didn’t you listen?” </p><p> </p><p>°</p><p> </p><p>In the stages when one's body undergoes a change (volumes, surfaces, purpose), the consciousness executes an essential transfer: at first just a physiological necessity, after, a psychological need, finally, a responsibility. </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu's body is still him, bound by a new mission. That's why, when he and Shinsuke touch skin to skin for the first time, he almost bursts out of it. </p><p> </p><p>It's just a fleeting contact, their hands meeting as they reach for the hammer at the same time, but he feels himself holding his breath. They are standing on the opposite sides of a folding ladder. Shinsuke is up two rungs higher than Atsumu, that's why he can see his throat move when he says: “Atsumu, let go of the hammer.” He wants to put his fingers there, feel the cartilage under the thin skin, a physiological necessity. He lets go of the hammer. </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke is smiling slightly again, has been doing that a lot these days. Work on the rice paddies is tedious, yesterday he caught a snake, tells Atsumu about it in the afternoon as they wander around the house, noticing what needs to be done, repaired, given up on. </p><p> </p><p>They open the door. Shinsuke helps him open the wardrobes, the windows and strip the bedding. They test the strength, flexibility, tension of surfaces. Stack what is no longer needed by the door to be thrown out later. It is jarring, to see Shinsuke in the spaces he thought would never be filled with anyone, moving so carefully but surely and the dust, stirred up, then settling down around him. </p><p> </p><p>And then in fragments: a photograph of him and Osamu, they could’ve been around five, standing in front of a small inflatable pool in the backyard, Atsumu imagines how after the photo has been taken he continued to play — took a bite of an apple and let it swim, the trees above them shook reflected on the surface, then stilled, he took a bite again and the cycle repeated, actually the world doesn’t have a good memory that’s why we can remember the things that never even happened. </p><p> </p><p>Shinsuke brought apples for them to share, sitting on the kitchen floor, they are juicy, dripping down their chin, Atsumu licks at his own forearm where a warm trickle is making a path down to his rolled up sleeve, then he presses their wrists together, Shinsuke’s slight wrist to his, pulse to pulse, a psychological need. Atsumu settles.</p><p> </p><p>And in the evening, Atsumu sits under the newly repaired roof of the porch, lamplight glistening in a teacup. And his hand, buried in soft silver fur. A responsibility. </p><p> </p><p>°</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Shinsuke says to him: “Your hair reminds me of autumn rice paddies. When the ears hang heavy under the weight of the rice in the husk and, golden, they bend over in the breeze. That’s when you know they are ready to be harvested. That’s how I shall know you.” </p><p> </p><p>°</p><p> </p><p>There is a man and a man; there is a man and a fox and the darkness; actually, the world doesn’t have a good memory that’s why we can remember the things that never even happened, we see in fragments — points and not written moments leaving imprints, it occurs to me that tonight after we go to sleep and turn the lights off, after a few minutes we can make out almost every thing inside the room, maybe that is why we are so afraid of the dark, I know I should stroke your hair and bring you close, you know that you will be dreaming about a man as a quiet fox, instead of a voice there will be a warm southern breeze inside him, I count down until the moment of exhalation when we find ourselves outside of time and finally fall asleep.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>
  <em> "It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties."  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"To establish ties?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world....”  </em>
</p><p><b>― </b> <b>Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince </b></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come talk to me about atsukita or osaaka or any rarepair rlly </p><p>my <a href="https://twitter.com/smexysamu">twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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